Severus
by Zerestor
Summary: Meet a scared and confused Snape, in pain and battling with his thoughts and memories. Swinging between the real and the unreal, sanity and insanity and between love and hurt. Not HBP or DH compliant.
1. Prologue

Prologue:

There was something important about hearing his name, his first name spoken out loud. If only he could remember why.

'Severus.' A voice spoke. A soft voice. In the tone, a warning telling him not to panic. The tone heard but not heeded, he stood up.

'Sit down Severus.' The voice continued. Commanding but gentle it washed feelings of both safety and fear over him. The two conflicting emotions swirled around his mind, dancing around his already muddled thoughts when a third, stronger feeling burst in, causing his chest to tighten and his breath to quicken. The overarching, all consuming feeling of guilt pervaded his mind.

Safety, fear and guilt. All from one soft voice, that spoke his name. Why was it important that his first name was spoken?

'No.' He growled out in response. 'I have to go.' He stumbled backwards away from the table. Refusing to turn and face the voice, his eyes looked downwards, flicking from his black robes, to his hands, to his feet, the chair and then the floor.

The voice spoke again, 'Where do you have to go?' it asked patiently. He would not answer that question. Feeling an answer growing on his lips he clamped them tightly shut. He didn't know the answer, he didn't understand the answer but he knew that there was one and he knew that he feared it and that somehow his traitorous lips would speak it and betray him.

'_Where_ do you_ have_ to go?' The voice repeated, nearer this time. The voice of a stranger yet familiar. Simultaneously distant yet near in his thoughts. He could not, he would not put a name to it. If he turned slightly, or swiveled his eyes just a little or pushed his hair back he knew he would see the face and knew he would know the voice. So he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Drawing shallow shuddering breaths his right hand clutched spasmodically at his left arm, fingers clasping and then releasing over and over, nails scratching and digging. He _could not_ wait, he needed to move. A gasp left his lips as, upon forcing his eyes open his vision swam and the room tilted suddenly. Releasing his arm both hands reached out and grasped the back of the chair he had recently vacated. He tried to focus on his hands, forcing his eyes to look at his knuckles as they turned white against the wood of the chair.

The voice spoke again.

'Severus...Please sit down.' Still calm but now with a slight plaintive, pleading quality to its tone. At this a memory suddenly burst into his mind. A brief, sliver of a memory but bright and garish. The sweet acidic smell of lemons invaded his mind, he felt nauseous and he felt anger, the feeling swelling up in his chest and finally bursting out from between his lips.

'No! Don't patronise me.' He spat. 'I have to go, I always have to go!'

'No Severus. You don't have to go.' It replied, oh so quietly.

'Yes. I _need_ to go. It stops when I go.' He whispered, bent over the chair for a minute, head spinning. Then abruptly he pushed away, staggering back a few paces, clattering into a large object behind him, which wobbled slightly and then steadied, a tinkling of crockery and glass accompanying the movement. His eyes searched the room looking for an exit, but all they found was the gaze of another set of eyes. Pale, watery blue. Eyes that knew him, eyes that he knew.

The world, his world crashed.

And strong arms grabbed him, as he staggered. Guiding him down as he slumped and hit the object behind and slid towards the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt warm hands tilting his head back telling him to drink up, reassuring him as he shied away that it was safe, just a potion to help him sleep, one from his own storerooms. And he did, trusting the voice whether it was friend or foe to send him into oblivion as the last thing he heard was his name, _his _first name, spoken aloud, and that was important.

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Preview of Chapter 1.

_...he heard a creak, ears straining, pulse rate up slightly he listened, it sounded like a door opening, somewhere in the building, it sounded like a floor below (he was on an upper floor, therefore out of this room his first priority was to head for some stairs). Straining his ears and holding his breath he heard a voice, deep, a man's voice say something, and then another voice replying, fainter than the other, higher in pitch but still a man's. A small click, the door shutting again? And then footsteps, footsteps of someone slowly, but steadily climbing stairs. He glanced around the room again and again saw nothing to help him, the hinges for the door hung of the left side meaning the door would open onto the wall, leaving no space even for a spy of Severus' lean figure to hide. He chose instead to press himself up against the wall to the right of the door. He listened as the footsteps finished climbing the stairs and paused, ears still straining he heard nothing, then the footsteps took up again, moving towards him, they paused outside the room, he could hear someone fumbling with cloth, with heavy robes he thought and then the sound of a key being inserted in the lock..._


	2. NOTE

Many apologies for making you think that I'd updated my story. I just wanted to let you know that I have not abandoned this story. That there is more to write and to say and my Severus. Unfortunately my house was broken into a couple of months ago and my laptop was stolen. Everything I have ever written was on that laptop and I've just now persuaded myself to start trying to rewrite some of my 'Severus' story from scratch and from memory.

Next chapter will hopefully be up soon. Thanks! Zx


	3. Chapter One: Waking Up

_And strong arms grabbed him, as he staggered. Guiding him down as he slumped and hit the object behind and slid towards the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt warm hands tilting his head back telling him to drink up, reassuring him as he shied away that it was safe, just a potion to help him sleep, one from his own storerooms. And he did, trusting the voice whether it was friend or foe to send him into oblivion as the last thing he heard was his name, his first name, spoken aloud, and that was important._

Chapter 1

Waking Up

He woke up on his own, in a dark room under blankets and sheets that were not his own. Running a dry tongue over his teeth he considered his position. He was grateful to notice that he hadn't suffered the indignity of being undressed. He was still in trousers and his shirt and swivelling his head he could see cloak, robes and waistcoat laid neatly over a chair, resting underneath sat his boots.

Severus couldn't count on his hands and feet the number of times he had woken up in a darkened room that was not his own. Life as a spy for dark lord and the leader of the light tended to do that to a person. A quick movement with the fingers of his left arm and he could feel that his wand holster was empty, which could mean one or several things.

He went through his usual series of checks, which began with a game of what hurts when you move it, followed by a round of can I sit up, and finally a quick burst of can I walk unaided. Each interspersed with various challenges of what can I hear, is there anyone near by, what do I last remember and what will I see out the window when I pull back the curtain – not necessarily in that order.

He quickly established that he didn't have any serious hurts, there was a dull but not unfamiliar ache in his left arm which he quickly disregarded he needed more information before he process that, but still the possibilities spun through his mind; he had been summoned at some point in the recent past, he was about to be summoned, he'd had some kind of an episode, he'd been clawing again or possibly he'd actually just hurt his arm in some way, he felt the old familiar bone weary ache in his left leg and knee, he'd learnt over time to catalogue the variety of pains that his leg put in through and this kind of tired, bone weary ache told him that at some point, recently he'd been in severe pain from his injury and this was the aftershock of this pain. There was also the beginnings of a headache lurking behind his eyes but nothing to concern him yet.

'Next round' he whispered to himself.

Gingerly he pushed the blankets back from his body and eased himself upright, swinging his legs, especially the left one, which he knew could start to cramp violently if he exercised the muscles too quickly or too soon. Sitting upright he took the chance to look more carefully around his room.

Small, his bed was in a corner, to the right of bed stood the chair with his remaining clothes and his boots, looking down he stretched and wriggled his toes, presuming his socks would be found tucked into the boots. The chair stood a little away from a small window, light seeped around the piece of cloth which served as a curtain. Nothing else was in the room, the door sat on the opposite wall to the bed, the far corner. He eyed the door suspiciously as he pushed himself gingerly to his feet. He felt fine, remarkably fine and his knee held. He took a few steps towards the window and pressed himself against the wall as he with one finger carefully tugged back a corner of the curtain, just enough to give him an angle out of window. His eyes squinted at the sudden assault of bright light, soon adjusting he saw a dirty white swirling mist, the colour at odds with the clear, morning sunlight that fell into the room. With a curl of the lip he sharply pulled the curtain to one side, allowing the light to fully light the room.

'Sodding enchanted windows.' He muttered.

Feeling he was better dressed than not, he sat and tugged socks on, then slipped his waistcoat on, before leaning forward to lace up his boots. That done he stood up and eased his black robes over his shoulders and felt much more himself. He strode softly to the door, and knelt down so he was eye level with the lock squinted he could see that the door had been locked. Therefore no point in needlessly rattling the door handle and possibly alerting his captors to the fact that he was awake and up.

Just then he heard a creak, ears straining, pulse rate up slightly he listened, it sounded like a door opening, somewhere in the building, it sounded like a floor below (he was on an upper floor, therefore out of this room his first priority was to head for some stairs), he strained, holding his breath and heard a voice, deep, a man's voice say something, another voice replying, fainter than the other, higher in pitch but still a man's.

A small click, the door shutting again?

And then footsteps, footsteps of someone slowly, but steadily climbing stairs.

He glanced around the room again and again saw nothing to help him, the hinges for the door hung of the left side meaning the door would open onto the wall, leaving no space even for a spy of Severus' lean figure to hide. He chose instead to press himself up against the wall to the right of the door, so he was flush (well not quite flush, he wasn't that slim) with the door. He listened as the footsteps finished climbing the stairs and paused, he strained, nothing, then the footsteps took up again, moving towards him, they paused outside the room, he could hear someone fumbling with cloth, with heavy robes he thought and then the sound of a key being inserted in the lock.

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_Preview of Chapter 2._

Albus heaved a heavy internal sigh upon hearing the quiet voice, so clearly laced with pain. He never knew what was worse; the snapping sniping foul mouthed shouting or the quiet submissive 'Sorry Headmaster.' It had taken Albus years to stop him calling him 'Sir'. The submissive nature and title of the words always sent a chill down Albus's spine, something in the word spoke of an expectation of punishment or violence, the words a last ditch attempt to ward off some imagined danger. Again he found himself wondering about what Severus didn't tell him about his childhood, about his adolescent about his servitude to Tom.


End file.
